


The Son of Dooku

by Inarikurenai



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Parenting, Clone Wars (Star Wars), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Heroes to Villains, Loss of Parent(s), Mentors, Revenge, Sins of the Father, Slow Romance, Villains to Heroes, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27972929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inarikurenai/pseuds/Inarikurenai
Summary: Count Dooku was many things. A Sith, a leader, a friend, a politician, a traitor.But a husband and father? That's a tale he rather not let out.
Relationships: Admiral Trench & Original Character(s), Ahsoka Tano & Asajj Ventress, Ahsoka Tano & Original Character(s), Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Asajj Ventress/Original Character(s), B1 Battle Droids & Original Character(s), Dooku & Asajj Ventress, Dooku & Sheev Palpatine, Dooku (Star Wars) & Original Character(s), Dooku/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of the original, Dooku's Son, which can be found on fanfiction.net if you are willing to read it. I do hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter 0: The Prologue**

* * *

"I'm pregnant."

Dooku blinked at hearing those two words, unable to utter a simple response. He never thought he would hear those words spoken to him ever since he joined the Jedi Order. Then again, the elderly man guessed he should've seen the eventual outcome coming a klick away when he first met her.

"How far along?"

"Four months," she answered.

He blinked again, his jaw tensed and his thin lips in a neutral line. If it weren't for the many years of strict training he underwent as a Jedi, he was sure his lover, Zen, would be shocked by the vivid expressions he could emote. For four months, he was unaware he had a child arriving. For four months, Zen bore the burden of pregnancy alone.

"I see…" Was all he could muster to say, still reeling in from the shocking news.

She closed her eyes as she sighed heavily. She slowly opened her tawny colored eyes, avoiding contact with him. "I don't expect you to drop everything, especially not the Jedi Order, to play husband and father," she wiped away a single tear that snuck its way out, "but you at least deserve to know you have a son on the way."

A son? _His_ son. He felt happy to hear such words. To hear that he would have a chance to be a better father than what his own was, having abandoned him to the spine-wolves to devour his _freak_ of a son after the discovery of his ability. 

He blinked at his own thoughts, unsure where it came from. He hadn’t thought about his father since the brief confrontation they had during his mother’s funeral. Dooku could still vividly remember the fury and disgust his father’s eyes carried when he arrived at the solemn event.

Dooku gazed upon his wife. Her usually vibrant lively eyes, carrying love and affection for him, were downcasted with guilt and shame, begging for him to forgive her like she had committed the unholiest of crimes. His love's short lithe figure shuddered every so slightly as she actively held back the tears that wanted to be unleashed to the galaxy. Her slender fingers balled up in tightly clenched fist, turning her knuckles pure white.

It was then he realized he hadn't spoken a single word for quite some time, elected to silence as he mulled over his own thoughts. She probably thought he was disappointed or angry at her for the pregnancy, ruining his calm and peaceful lifestyle as a member of the Jedi Council. 

_"You don’t deserve to be here. Leave, now, or else I force you, freak."_

Those were the first and last words his father ever spoke to him. He refused to be anything like that man. He will be a father his future child deserved and that started with being there with his wife. 

"That's all I wanted to say, Dooku. I promise to not reveal the child—"

"Zen." He interrupted with a soft tone. Tension left his body as the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a slight grin. "You know the type of man I am."

He could see the clouds of penitence starting to part from her deep set eyes but still held the darken skies of worry and fear in them. "A-are you saying…"

"I'm saying, we've kept our marriage a secret for so long—what's another one to add to the list."

A smile broke out of her face, bringing life into her tawny eyes once more. Though as quickly it came, it vanished, leaving no trace of it ever existing. "But you're a Jedi. You have responsibilities to the—"

"I will leave the Order." He stated without hesitation.

Zen was speechless at his words. Dooku could not blame her. It was unheard of for a Jedi to leave the order they were grown and groomed in since childhood. It was a long time coming in his opinion. 

He detested the growing corruption of the Galactic Senate, and everyone of the Republic, including his former Master, Yoda turned a blind eye to it. The disillusion of his Order, thinking they were unstoppable and incapable of any fallacies were just idiotic and would be their own downfall one day. It was time for him to start a new life.

"A-are you sure?" She stammered. "You will be leaving your entire life behind for some pregnant forty year-old woman."

"And you will be starting a new life with a sixty-four year-old former Jedi Master," he countered. He smiled at her holographic form, finding her speechless expression quite humorous. "If you are willing to have me, of course."

She chuckled, presenting him with a dazzling smile. He loved the way she smiled at him, seeing the love her eyes held for him. "I'm already carrying your child, Dooku. Of course I want you."

"Good, it would be certainly awkward if you didn't." He jested with a teasing smirk. "I shall ask my friend from the Senate for assistance in reaching you as well as procuring funds for our future. I'll contact you when I depart."

"Sounds like a plan, dear. I'll be waiting for you." She placed hands on her growing stomach, gazing lovingly at the baby bump. " _We'll_ be waiting for you."

His new life will start soon and with it, his child and wife. "I love you, Zen."

"And I love you too, Dooku." 

* * *

Dooku walked through the halls of the Senate Building heading towards the elevator that led to the Chancellor's suite. The many senators of the Republic greeted the Jedi Master as he passed them by—a courtesy act due to his position of his order. 

If it weren't for him having a seat on the council, he doubted these insufferable politicians would even grant him a passing glance. All were a disgrace to the ideals they supposedly swore to uphold. 

The elderly Jedi reached the elevator. With a deep calming breath, he entered. He pressed the button for his desired destination. As the elevator began to climb, Dooku tried not to think about his negative views towards the Republic. His wife disliked the talk of politics. At least he knew there was a chance of change among the corrupted with the election of the new Supreme Chancellor.

The elevator dinged, signifying its arrival. The doors opened slow and he was welcomed with the sight of a wide corridor with crimson red flooring and walls. It was the first time he had been to the newly minted Chancellor Suite, having been constructed shortly after the Battle of Naboo. It has a somewhat odd feel that the Jedi Master couldn't be his finger as to what it was. 

He moved along the corridor, taking in the decor. There were bronze statues organized in a straight line, guiding him to the main office. Dooku recognized a few of them, being sculpted after ancient philosophers and deities of various religions. The Jedi entered the spacious office of his friend but was halted at the entrance by two Redgaurds with the crossing of their force pikes.

"Master Dooku?" 

His trusted friend and only true ally of the Senate, Sheev Palpatine, stood from behind his desk and hurriedly walked to him. "Stand down, let him through." He ordered his security forces.

The Redgaurds uncrossed their weapons, granting Dooku passage into the office. Palpatine met him halfway, greeting with a kind almost fatherly smile and a hardy handshake.

"It is nice to see you once again. It has been too long, my old friend."

He welcomed the smile with one of his own. "Likewise, Chancellor."

"Come," he ushered the Jedi to follow him. He directed him to the other occupant of the room. "I'm sure you remember Miram?" 

"That I do." Miram stood from the luxurious seat, greeted him with a handshake. "Are you still in the academy?" 

Miram was a young human woman—just reached adulthood if the Jedi's memory served him correctly. She was dressed in a ashen gray uniform, fancied into a militant style with her brunette hair tied in a high tight bun. Not surprising given her choice of career as an officer of Coruscant's Planetary Defense Force.

"I graduated last week." She released his hand. "I start my first day in three rotations. Thank you for asking, Master Dooku."

"She had graduated at the top of class with scores that are record breaking." Palpatine proudly stated.

"Most impressive." Dooku admitted. "You should be proud of your accomplishments." 

"Thank you for your compliments." 

Palpatine chuckled at the young girl's indifferent response. "Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, my friend?"

"It's a…" His eyes flickered to the girl before back to his friend. " _Private_ matter."

The ever present smile of Palpatine's falter at those words. "I see. Guards, leave us alone for a few minutes." He placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Miram dear, I'm deeply sorry but it seems I have to cut our schedule time short. I promise to make it up to you sometime soon."

"Of course Chancellor, I understand." She accepted with a nod. She turned to regard Dooku. "Master Jedi." She said, inclining her head slightly.

"Miram." He replied with the same courtesy.

She moved to exit the room with the two Redgaurds following closely behind, leaving the two elderly men alone. Palpatine walked around his large desk and took a seat in his exquisite chair. He motioned for Dooku to take the seat across from him.

"Now, what is troubling you my old friend?"

Dooku's mouth opened slightly but no words came out. He was unsure on what to say. That his love of his life was pregnant with his child? That he was planning on leaving the Order that fed and housed him? That he came here to beg to receive any amount of credits to help his new family? 

He swallowed down a lump that was stuck in his throat. It was best to rip the bacta patch off instead of teasing it. "Zen is pregnant."

Palpatine blinked, stunned from the announcement. The Chancellor was one of two individuals in the galaxy that knew of his forbidden relationship, the second being his closest friend, Sifo-Dyas. The Chancellor was actually the one who officiated Dooku's secret wedding. 

Palpatine quickly recovered from the shock. He smiled brightly at Dooku's good fortune. "That's wonderful news! Congratulations, my friend. But," his eyes softened as looked at Dooku with worry, "what about the Jedi Order? What are you going to do?"

"That's actually the reason why I'm here."

"Oh?" Palpatine pondered with a curious raised brow.

"I'm leaving the Order but as you can guess, the Jedi don't pay their devotees. I came here in hopes you will loan me credits to support my wife and future son." He hated how he was abusing the friendship he cultivated throughout the years. It was completely against his morals. "You have my word that I will return it with interest."

"Dooku, there's no need to pay me back. I will give you what you desire."

"Thank you, Sheev. I truly appreciate it."

"Of course Dooku, of course. But," Palpatine's smile gradually disappeared, taking with it the jollity and warmth the man always brought to a conversation. "We both know that will only be a temporary solution for your family and I cannot supply you with annual funds for you for the rest of my life. You know how deep the corruption of the Galactic Senate goes. If one could find a possible weakness to exploit, they will not hesitate to use it for their advantage. A Chancellor sending credits to a Jedi who forsaken the Order just to raise a family is caused enough in being blackmailed, regardless of what our relationship might be."

What his friend said was the truth. The corrupted officials of the Senate, blinded by greed and craving of more power, would never give up a prime opportunity in having the Grand Chancellor under their beck and call. To pass unjust laws just to fill their pockets with credits and to expand their territory.

“May I offer a suggestion?” Palpatine waited for the okay to continue. Once given, he said, “why not return to your home world, and claim the title of Count of your noble house?”

“We both know I can’t.” 

He wondered why his friend even offered such a ludicrous idea. His brother, Ramil, was current Count of Serenno. While he wasn’t close to his family, with exception of his sister, Jenza, he can’t usurp the man simply because he needed funds. 

Can he?

“Keep an open mind, Dooku. With the title of Count of Serenno, you not only claim the family fortune your house is known for, but also protection that you would desperately need in the future with the rest of the noble houses backing you.”

“What do you mean?”

Palpatine smiled. It was that of sympathy. “Dooku, my friend, do you honestly believe the Jedi would leave you and Zen be with a possible Force wielding child not under their supervision?”

“...No…”

While the Jedi Order could accept him leaving their hypocritical organization, he doubted they would accept him caring and raising his own child, teaching him the ways of the Force. They would be too afraid of the off chance his child being seduced to the dark side and possibly bringing forth the Sith once more. It was one of the reasons why they took children that showed a connection so young.

“You may not want to admit it, but you have the makings of a great politician with your charisma and your way with words. Mixed that with your stature as a Jedi Master, I’m sure the people of Serenno would welcome you with open arms.”

“...There could be opposition. You know how my late Father detest my kind.”

“Perhaps, but you are close to your sister—Jenza is her name, right?” Dooku gave an affirmative hum and a nod. “I’m sure she could weed out any dissidents that may have _objections_ to your rule.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his fingers over each other. “But this all depends how far you are willing to go to protect your wife and child.” 

Dooku blinked, pondering at the idea his friend suggested. Like always, Palpatine was right. He would never have to worry about credits again with the abundance of money his family held. The Jedi won’t leave him alone, always questioning his every move to see if he would turn. The people of Serenno, while deeply respecting the leader of his family’s house, could stage a coup and his sister would be the only one on his side to stop it and cement his rule. 

His sister had also worded caution of their brother’s rule, turning almost tyrannical since the passing of their father. Maybe taking the title from his brother was the only chance for his fledgling family to have peace.

“You might be right, Sheev. I think claiming my birthright might be the best course of action for my family.” 

“Excellent, Dooku. I shall give you my full support for your endeavor. But first, let’s have a toast.” Palpatine reached underneath his desk, taking out a bottle of red liquid and two small glasses. He filled them up with the fluid. “It’s Alderaanian wine, your favorite. **”** He handed one of the glasses to Dooku while picking up the spare.

“Thank you, my friend. Your counsel was most needed.”

“Of course Dooku. Now,” he raised his glass in the air, “to your future son, and perhaps, his guideparent, hmm?”

Dooku chuckled lightly. Since he was brought into the fold about Dooku’s and Zen’s relationship, Palpatine was always adamant whenever he sired a child that he would be the child’s guideparent. “Maybe my friend.” He lightly tapped his glass against his friend’s. “Just maybe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: The Son**

* * *

A solar sailer entered the Horox system. Its large golden sails began to furl itself in its canopy when it drew closer to a bright red and green planet. The sailer began its steady descent, going through the planet’s atmosphere with ease. It flew fast and high in the cloudless sky to its destination, gleaming brightly from the Sun’s rays. 

After a few minutes of flying, it finally arrived at its destination. A tiny, easily missable building, surrounded by heavy foliage. It landed on the sole landing pad of the installation with grace fitting of the luxurious spacecraft. The doors of the vessel slid open with a ramp exited and met with the ground. A tall man with pure white hair, dressed with garbs fitting of a nobleman exited the ship. He was greeted by a LEP servant droid with an olive green finish.

The droid bowed, “Count Dooku,” it greeted.

He continued walking, ignoring the pleasantries the droid spewed. “How is my son's progress faring?” 

“Quite well, my lord.” The droid moved quickly to catch up to the man, taking long strides with its small legs. “Though he is not exhibiting the same abilities you hold, he does possess terrifying intelligence and aptitude for someone so young.”

He grumbled at the disappointing news. It was quite unfortunate. He had hoped his son would be his apprentice since he sensed a strong connection to the Force in him when he was but an infant. He had hoped the grueling training he sentenced his son to would see his potential unleashed to the galaxy but it seemed Dooku would need to find a new subject to assist him in overthrowing his master. Only then would his son be truly safe from others. He just needed to bide his time now.

"Where is he now?"

"Ah, sparring at the moment, my lord."

"Take me to him. I wish to see his growth personally."

"Y-yes of course, Count Dooku," it stammered, "right this way."

The servant took the lead, guiding the dark lord of the Sith through the steel gray halls to his child. He wondered how long it has been since he last saw his son? He had been quite preoccupied with carrying out his master's plans the last couple of years. Three years? No, it had to be more than that. Five perhaps? He closed his eyes, trying to remember his son's face. He couldn't even recall the color of his hair, let alone any physical features. It seemed it had been too long since he last saw the boy.

He opened his eyes, a hint of sadness in them and a noticeable frown gracing his lips. Zen would be disappointed in him for forgetting the face of their child, lashing out at him for breaking his vow in being a better parent than his own father was to him. Being viewed as a terrible parent who only cared about grooming his only child as a weapon was a necessary sacrifice though. Sometimes keeping one's child safe meant being the villain. Hopefully Zen understood his actions from wherever she may be watching them from.

"We arrived, my lord."

The droid opened the large doors, revealing a battered arena. In the center of the arena were three individuals. Two of which were IG-100 MagnaGuard droids—each wielding a electrostaff—towering over a human boy less than half their size. The boy was badly beaten, covered in bruises and a bloody busted bottom lip. His form was sloppy, full of openings as he used his vibrosabre as a crutch to stand on his own two feet. Judging by how heavy he was breathing and the way his battered clothes stuck to him, the boy was exhausted, looking he might keel over at any second.

His son was going to lose. That was a fact even the most inexperience could see. A pity he didn't see how the events led up to this moment. He was sure his son put up quite the fight. Another time perhaps.

He was going to order them to cease with their duel but was stopped by the droid that led them there.

"I know how it may look, Count Dooku, but he will prevail victorious."

He raised a brow at the machine's words. Was that pride he heard from the droid? Never had he heard such emotions coming from a being of metal and oil. "How so?"

"For this is his fourth attempt at this exercise. He always succeeds at the fourth."

Just as the droid spoke those words, one of the MagnaGuard droids moved to attack. It went high with an overhead strike while its partner moved swiftly to flank their target. It was etched into their programming to conduct such a plan. One will always be the distraction for the others to attack from behind then overwhelm the target with their systemic attacks.

His son reacted quickly, crouching low and then dashing at the droid in front of him. The droid saw it coming and fixed itself, now committing an underhand strike instead. At the last second, before the blow would connect and send bolts of electricity into the boy, he brought his sabre forward at a downward angle, effortlessly letting the attack graze his blade as he maneuvered behind the droid.

The boy didn't waste the chance that was graced to him. He kicked the back of its right knee, faltering its movements for his next attack. He jumped on its back, grabbing hold of its shoulder as a means to not fall off. With a fluid motion, he stabbed the droid in the center of its head and brought it down, effectively slicing it into two.

The half he held onto began to fall and he rolled with the motion, heading towards his last standing opponent. The droid tried to strike him but he was too small of a target and missed. The boy unrolled at the last second, slicing the droids legs at its kneecaps with finesse of a proficient swordsman. He didn't let the droid have any quarter and jumped on its back, halting its chances to recover and conduct a counterattack. With zero remorse he slashed at the machine diagonally, successfully decommissioning the droid and won the duel.

"Most impressive." Dooku spoke loudly, startling his son with his clapping.

His son turned around to face him, smiling despite the bruises and blood on his face. "Dad!" He greeted him.

It seemed time didn't affect his son like it did him. The boy immediately recognized him while he couldn't remember the simplest of features of the young boy. His son moved to meet him—dropping his vibrosabre to the ground—but tripped over scraps of metal below. He didn't make contact with the floor though, being lifted inch off the ground.

Dooku lifted his index finger upward, making the boy stand upright.

"Always be mindful of your surroundings or else you will find yourself among those you've defeated."

"Y-yes Dad." The boy stammered nervously, eyes focused on the ground.

"I need not your words but your actions to see that you truly understand." Dooku folded his hands behind his back. "But I did not come here to lecture you. I bring good news, my son; you are leaving this planet today."

"Really?" His face beamed at the news.

Dooku could hear the excitement in his voice. Normally he would have reprimanded such eagerness, he was raising a warrior afterall, but since he was still a boy, he would let it slide just this once.

"Yes. You are to finish the last of your training with a new associate of mine."

"O-oh," Dooku saw the innocent smile of his son diminished slightly from the news. "I mean, as you wish Father."

His son made a fist with his right hand and hovered it over his heart, taking a slight bow. An act one does when regarding an order from a member of the noble houses of Serenno.

Dooku knew his words and actions were harsh towards the boy but he needed him to be strong for what was to come. While not strong in the Force, the boy has other uses he could exploit. Dooku needed an ally he could trust for the troubling plans his master had in motion, and what was a better ally than his own son. 

"Gather your belongings and report to my ship. You may freshen up during our journey. I will be there shortly."

"Yes, Father..."

His son moved to follow his orders, head down to avoid his gaze. Dooku closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_Everything you are doing is to protect your son._

He exhaled slowly, ridding himself of any doubt or second thoughts he had planned for his son. He will not lose him, he promised her that. 

"Droid," Dooku called, gaining the attention of the machine next to him, "I want all droids of this outpost in my presence this instant."

"Yes, of course Count Dooku." The green droid quickly scurried off to follow its master’s command, tripping over its own stumpy legs. 

It didn't long for the machine to gather all the residents of the small installation to his location. He had requested only a handful of droids, mainly those with caretaking programming, to mold his son’s skills as well as educate him. He had muse on the idea of allowing living beings to be the one to facilitate the growth of his child but decided against it at the last second. Not only could they form an attachment to the boy—an act that he refused to happen—the hypothetical individuals could be a risk of letting the current status of his son reach his master's ears. As far as his master knew, his son died peacefully a few years back due to the illness that swept his homeworld.

The green servant droid returned with many of its kind behind it. They all filed in small columns, patiently waiting for further instructions. The LEP servant droid took a step forward to their master. 

"Everyone as you ordered, Count Dooku."

"Good," he said with a nod. He gazed upon each and every single one that helped molded and shaped his son's skills and repertoire. Based on what he had seen from his son’s duel, it seemed he was correct in letting droids take the helm of his son’s growth. 

"You all have exceeded my expectations greatly. I can see my son has learned much from you, machines." He folded his hands behind the small part of his back. “Unfortunately, the needs of your services are no longer required. Execute destruction protocol, four-delta-niner-tree.”

One by one, each droid's visor suddenly changed color. What was once a baby blue or magenta purple was now a deep crimson red. They all snapped into attention. 

"As you wish, Lord Tyranus." They all chorus.

They many droids huddled together, connecting through their limbs. With whirs and low screeching noise, the droids transformed and joined together, forming three large rectangular objects. A soft click graced Dooku's ears as numbers displayed on the objects, counting down from ten minutes. 

The green servant droid was the only one not consumed to form the three bombs. "Will there be anything else, Lord Tyranus?"

"No." He turned away from the machine, making his way to the exit. "You are dismissed."

The droid grabbed its head. "Have a pleasant day." With a quick snap and tug, it removed its head from its body then fell with a loud metallic clang.

* * *

"What is your name?"

"Coquer."

"Where did you hail from?"

"Saffia of Serenno."

"Who are your parents?"

"Jernic and Mara. Both deceased due to an illness that swept my home."

"How did I come around you?"

"I was a servant, completing chores I was tasked with. I noticed an unfinished game of chess while conducting my routine. When I placed black into checkmate, you found me and asked if I was the one who did it. After answering yes, you made me your ward. You said I have potential that you wished to bring out and... " 

Coquer trailed off, looking completely uncomfortable with continuing. His hands on his knees, tightly grasping his brown slacks as he avoided looking at his father.

"And?" Dooku asked with a demanding tone.

The boy sighed, releasing his grip on his pants. "...and that I reminded you of your deceased son." He breathed.

Dooku nodded his head in an approving manner of his son's responses. Though hesitant, all were correctly answered. While traveling to their destination, the old Sith drilled into the young boy's head his new identity. He has acquired a few enemies while preparing for his master's grand plan, and the numbers will continue to grow once war begins. He cannot have his enemies a way to exploit him.

Dooku glanced at his son, examining his appearance. It would be easy to mistake his son for an orphan he took pity on. His son received his strong cheekbones and fairer skin tone but nothing else. Thankfully, the boy carried much of the same characteristics as his mother. Soft deep-set eyes, colored in a kind tawny shade. Small, almost childlike nose, begging to be poke like a button. Shoulder length hair, perfectly framing her triangle shaped face, dressed in a dark brown color. Alluring smile that promised safety and love for him.

_"Stop staring, Dooku. You're making me blush."_

He snapped his eyes close, taking a sharp breath. He needed to be strong. While he will never forget about Zen and the time they shared, he must place the memories of her in the back of his mind. The Sith doesn't take kindly with such weakness and he was sure he doesn't want to get replaced anytime soon by his master for displaying such frailty. 

"Dad, are you okay?"

Dooku opened his eyes, sparing his son one more look. "Yes."

He turned away from the boy, staring out the window which held the view of a fleet of ships exiting lightspeed.

"Refrain from calling me such titles from now on. You are now Coquer, my ward, not my son. I'm your Master, not your _Dad_. You will only refer me as your father when I grant you permission to."

"I understand...Master."

"Remember, I need not your words but your actions." He began piloting the sailer to dock with the lead ship. "Any mistakes of any kind that would lead to an individual's knowledge of your lineage, will be most threatening to your life."

Dooku left the ominous warning in the air. He knew it sounded like a threat against his son's life but the boy needed to truly understand what the consequences were for letting his true identity be discovered. His son would understand his actions when he grew older. 

Dooku stood from his seat. "Come. Time to meet your new instructor."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2: The Captain**

* * *

The hatch opened with a wispy cloud of steam and a sharp loud hiss that made Dooku grimaced from the noise. He took a step forward—dissipating the cloud with the usage of the Force—welcomed with the sight of a Pau'an and Twi'lek male, armed with blaster rifles. Though they carried themselves with a serious and militant demeanor, they were far from what the Count would label soldiers. No identical uniforms or gear, looking like they were a planet’s local militia that picked up arms at the last second to defend their home. The Pau’an especially looked out of place, seemingly uncomfortable carrying the weapon in his hands. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw his son shuffling backwards, using him as a buffer between the two armed strangers. Such balantant weakness. He thought his son was braver than to cower from the mere sight of weapons. To face and dispatch two armed droids with ruthlessness and finesse—reminding much of himself when he pledged himself to the dark side—to only be afraid of insignificant insects like the two aliens before them. It seemed Dooku was right in his decision in placing his son under the tutelage of the captain.

"Count Dooku," The Pau'an greeted with a nod. "We were ordered to escort you and your ward to the Captain."

"Very well." He took a step forward but was stopped by a raised hand from the Twi'lek. He stared at the extended hand with a curious raised brow before flickering his attention to the man who dared to stop him.

"I'm sorry, Count, but no weapons.” The blue alien gestured to the elegant curved hilt of his lightsaber with the barrel of his rifle. “That includes your fancy lightsab—"

Instead of words exiting the Twi'lek’s mouth, a sharp gasp left instead. He tilt his head to the side, staring in confusion at the human. His mouth opened and closed but no sound ever came out. His grip on his rifle loosen and fell from his touch, clattering loudly on the grated steel ground. 

The alien's partner, the Pau’an, turned to see what was wrong with the Twi’lek. The tall gaunt individual watched as his blue companion dropped to his knees, reaching for the invisible noose around his neck. Streaks of tears stained his cheeks, selling the pure look of fear in his eyes. 

The Pau’an snapped to the Count, raising his weapon at him. “R-release him!” He ordered with a quivering voice and trembling rifle.

Dooku merely kept his gaze unto the choking Twi’lek, ignoring the weapon pointing at his skull. These ruffians needed to learn respect and nothing was an better eye opener than the prospect of death staring at you. His master taught him that first hand.

“M-master,” his son called. “What are you doing?” The boy asked with some alarm in his voice.

Dooku didn't answer him. A Sith does not need to explain themselves. The Pau’an clenched his sharp teeths—closing his eyes—bracing to take a life to save his comrade. His noble act of camaraderie was in vain. A simple look in the gray giant’s direction was all it took for the Pau’an to crumble to his knees, mimicking their partner’s air constricting state. 

The Serennian grinned at their final display of defiance against the inevitable. The Twi’lek clawed against his dirt brown shirt, shredding it open—having his hairless chest bare to the world—while the Pau’an crawled to him, grabbing on his black boots and begged for him to stop. 

"A Sith doesn't take orders." He removed his boot from the clutches of the soon to be deceased. He was different from the weak willed from the Jedi Order and those of the galaxy needed to recognize that.

“Dad, stop!” 

Coquer shoved his father, breaking the hold the Sith had on the two aliens. The boy saw the moment air rushed to the oxygen deprived individuals, hacking and coughing from the life that was given to them. His son pushed past his father to check on the health of the two. 

“Are you okay?”

The Twi’lek took a few more heavy breaths, savoring the air in his lungs. “Y-yeah. Thanks, ki—”

The blue male was lifted off his feet then dragged towards Dooku, impaled by the crimson blade of the Sith. The Pau’an scrambled to his feet, scurrying to the exit like a trapped animal. His neck suddenly snapped, filling the ears of the Serennians with a nasty blood curdling crunch of bone. The body slumped and slid against the floor, lying motionless on the ground. 

"Y-y-you—"

Dooku marched to his son, a scowl present on his lips. Raising his right hand high before striking the boy. His nostrils flared with his eyes narrowing at the foolish son of his. 

“I _warned_ you.” He hissed. “No one can find out who you are.”

Coquer cradled his bruised cheek, staring daggers at the man. “You were going to kill them!”

“I need not to explain my actions to you.” He said through clenched teeth. “Only thing you must do is to listen to my orders. I cannot lose you too.”

Dooku closed his eyes, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose. He lost his composure. It was very unfitting of him. He took pride in his control of his emotions and rational thinking. It was a temporary lapse that will never happen again. He exhaled slowly, opening his hazel eyes and avoiding sparing a single glance at his son. 

“Dad…”

“I’m not your Father.” Dooku strolled forward. “Come, we have delayed long enough.”

“...Yes, Master.” Coquer hurriedly caught up to his father’s side, matching his stride. “I apologize for my insubordination. It will not happen again.”

“I need not your words, but your actions to see that you understand.”

“Yes, Master.”

* * *

The Harch—captain of the space ferrying vessel—gazed out into empty space, tapping against the armrest as he patiently waited for his honor guest to arrive. He was pleasantly surprised for someone as well known as Count Dooku to seek him out for something as simple as passing along his knowledge of combat to the infamous man's ward. Normally he wouldn't accept such a lackluster offer. He was a naval officer through and through after all—having spent most of his life on warships—taking pleasure in annihilating his enemy. Teaching an incompetent kid about the art of war wasn't on the top of his list of priorities. Sadly, one does not refuse the Count.

The Harch sank further in their chair, scratching one of his chelicerae with one of his six hands. A faint, almost hushed steady clicking noise left the captain's mouth. He wondered why the former Jedi requested—more like demanded—for him to teach his ward. Not saying the act of the request wasn’t uncommon. Quite the contrary honestly. He had numerous individuals throughout his long life span, sending their entreaties to have a chance to have an inkling of his skills. It was flattering in all honesty. 

Whether or not he was of the illustrious order of mystics, Dooku was still a Jedi and they were widely known to have an adverse stance towards warfare and violence in general. Always leaning over to the power of words and democracy, instead of relying on their simplistic fabled lightsabers to save the day. Then again, Dooku was a different case. If the rumors were indeed true, he had killed without mercy—his own brother nonetheless. Such isn't the Jedi way. But now that begged the question, why would a Jedi—regardless if he may have willingly dipped his hands in blood—have the need of a young military commander?

"What are you planning, Count Dooku?" The captain mused barely above a whisper.

He perked up hearing the hatch to the bridge open followed by the soft clangs of footsteps against the steel flooring. He tore his multiple red eyes away from the window outlooking the twinkling distanced stars and his small fleet of ships, standing from his captain's chair and made to meet with the newcomers. The captain regarded his two guests with a look over and soft clicking with his mouth.

"Count Dooku," he greeted the nobleman with a bow of his head. "A pleasure to finally see the face behind the name."

"Likewise, Captain Trench. You have quite the notorious reputation, Captain. "

Trench chuckled from the compliment. "So do you, Count Dooku." The Harch male noticed it was only the two humans before him. "Where are the two I tasked to escort you?"

"Dead," he bluntly answered. "They had disrespected my ward and I. You will soon find out that I do not take kindly to such rudeness, nor do I do failures of any kind."

"I see…" Trench knew a threat when he heard one. It seemed he needed to put out all the stops in training the boy lest he wanted to taste the wrath of the nobleman and join his fallen men. "My utmost apologies, Count. I will make sure that it won't happen again."

"I know it won't." Dooku placed a hand on his young companion's shoulder. The Harch noticed a faint red mark on the boy’s right cheek. "This is my ward I had informed you about."

"I'm Coquer." The boy introduced confidently as he bowed his head. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

Trench hummed from his simple introduction, eyeing the boy with scrutiny. Most cower in fear at the presence of his species. All due to his large stature, menacing blood red eyes, and his arachnid-like appearance. All characteristics individuals would find frightening. This boy in front of him seemed to be among the few exceptions. 

“Likewise, Coquer.” His mouth clicked; a quirk all his species carried when speaking basic. “I never tutored—especially a human—before. It seems our time together will be quite the experience.” 

Coquer bowed his head once again, this time a bit deeper than before. "I look forward to learning from you, Captain."

"As do I, boy." Trench focused his attention to the adult human. "I will see that your ward will be a force worth reckoned with, Count Dooku."

"Good." Dooku removed his hand from his ward's shoulder and placed it behind his back. "Trench, remember, I do not accept failure," he focused his unnerving gaze to Coquer. " _Nor_ do I accept incompetence of any caliber."

Coquer was shaken at first from the intense glare the man produced. The boy recovered quickly though. He made a fist with his right hand and hovered it over his heart, bowing deeply. "I will not fail you, Master."

Dooku regarded the boy's words with a satisfied nod. "We shall see." He turned away from the two. "I will want monthly updates of his progress. Do _not_ be late with them." He left the bridge after the order.

Trench watched the hatch closed behind the Jedi. Such high expectations placed upon him and the boy. He hasn't had such pressure placed upon him since he had been placed in command of defending his home-world against raiders from the Free Colonies during the Andoan Wars. A perfect change of pace from his mundane activities as mercenary for the Corporate Alliance.

“Commodore,” he calmly walked to his chair and sat in it. "Notified the rest of the fleet that we are heading back on course for Gan Moradir. We have a job we were paid to do and I rather not keep our foes waiting any second longer.”

The commodore grinned at the order. "Set course for Gan Moradir, aye." They went to relay the orders down the pipeline.

Trench moved to comfortable in his seat for the battle to come. Based on the reports his mercenary group received, the Xan people of Gan Moradir had idiotically picked up arms against the Corporate Alliance—amassing a formidable fleet of civilian ships turned vessels of war. The bulbous headed species will be the perfect test subject to evaluate the new ships the Trade Federation wanted him to assess. It should prove to be an enlightening experience. Speaking of experience... 

"Boy, come," he commanded, "it is time to start your first lesson in warfare." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say thank you for the positive responses for the rework of my first fic. It means a lot. I had done a lot of research—both canon and legends—to make this work one of the best Star Wars fic in the fandom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3: The Lesson**

* * *

Coquer peered over his shoulder, staring at the sealed hatch his dad exited through. He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping his dad would reappear before him and declare how much of a fool he was then take him back to their home planet so they could be a family again. The young boy's eyes opened, seeing only empty space and broken dreams.

It was a childish wish. One that still carried the naivety of someone his age. Still though, he yearned for that wish to be granted one day. His dad was all he has left now.

"Boy, come," the Harch commanded, "it is time to start your first lesson in warfare."

"Yes, Captain."

Coquer steered his gaze forward, placing his woes behind and trying to view the brighter side of his situation. Perhaps this time around his dad would return earlier than seven years and actually take him home. He took a step forward, trudging through the doubts that screamed in his mind. His second step was a lot easier to commit to.

The young boy walked and stood to the Harch's left, both gazing at the darkness of space with the only objects occupying the vacuum of space were the twinkling distance stars and the ships of the Captain's fleet. He felt the bridge rumble ever so slightly with a soft, almost hypnotic hum in the distance. One by one, the neighboring space vessels flashed forward, becoming another star in space. A shade of baby blue enveloped the bridge's view port as the twinkling white stars became streaks on a black canvas.

The ship suddenly lurched forward, entering lightspeed velocity. Coquer's stomach churned once the action was completed. He didn't know if it was his lack of travel that made him so easily queasy when entering hyper lanes, or that he always had a weak stomach and he just never knew it. He knew one thing though, and that it sucks.

"Coquer, what has Dooku taught you about the conduction of warfare?"

Coquer swallowed down the lunch that was dangerously creeping its way back up his throat. "My Master left my education to droids."

He wanted to give credit where credit was due. He felt his droid caretakers were an extended family of sorts. They taught him plenty of important things, especially L-379. It taught him how to cook. One would think that a machine specifically programmed to create a wide range of cuisines would be delicious, not blander than water and crackers.

"That being said, they had only taught me the history of major conflicts of the past, not the tactics of victor nor the flaws of the defeated."

"I see." Trench commented. "Tell me, in your opinion, based on what you have learned, what is the most important trait that a military leader needs to possess to be efficient on the battlefield?"

Coquer was young and a bit on the naïve side, but he was far from being an idiot. Trench was already testing him. Probably had been since he arrived on the bridge with his father. He knew he lost some points from his lack of knowledge on conducting warfare. No one wanted to teach a complete novice after all. Too much work to properly mold the brain to think a certain way before getting into the nit and gritty of the actual training.

The question that was asked of him was a simple one that had more answers then he could possibly state. Trench no doubt knew this as well as him probably not reaching the same answer as he. Which meant there was another question underlined the one being asked. One he believed what was really being asked as well as the answer the captain may seek.

"Cunning." Coquer finally answered. "I wish to be a military leader that outsmarts my foes with usage of feints, deception, misdirection."

Trench's mandibles moved animatedly as he let out a boisterous laugh. The crew joined in with their Captain's laughter causing the young boy to blush and hung his head in embarrassment. Perhaps Coquer was over thinking the question.

The laughter soon dwindled down but the embarrassed red cheeks of Coquer did not. The Harch Captain stood from his seat, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. Coquer looked up at his instructor, noticing a twinkle in his many red eyes.

"I can see why Dooku had chosen me to teach you the delicate art of war."

Trench guided the boy closer to the view port. "Before I'll teach you the ways of combat, I'll let you have a taste of what war is."

As those words were spoken, they exited out of hyperspace. Coquer saw a heavy blockade, consisting of a mix match of cruisers and frigates, protecting the planet behind them.

"Captain," one of the crewmembers called out, "they outnumbered us two-to-one."

A low, almost sinister in nature, chuckle left the Harch's lips. "Excellent."

* * *

A Xan female leaned forward in the large space gray chair, resting her elbows on her thighs and interlacing her slender fingers together. Her large dark eyes spotted a small fleet of ships—two cruisers and three frigates—all bearing the insignia of the infamous Harch, Trench. She thought he had perished a long time ago, but she guessed those rumors were false.

She didn't know if she should be fearful that the Corporate Alliance sent the man known to have lived through a thousand battles, or flattered that her small-time insurrection deserved such attention. Either way, she was thankful they were able to scrounge up a few more parts to turn more ships battle ready. She would definitely need it.

"Ma'am, they're heading in our direction."

"Have our frigates move in to intercept. I want all cruisers to stay in their defensive line and pepper the enemy from a far." She ordered calmly, despite the cold sweat that rolled down her slim neck. "This is what we all trained for these past ten rotations. We'll show those corporations that we're more than just assets for them to exploit."

Her crew cheered but for only a moment. They had a battle to win and any deter of focus means death. They relayed the orders their leader put out, with the designated vessels moving to follow them.

Her frigates fired upon Trench's fleet, landing multiple hits on his vessels. If the little time she served in the Republic Military Academy before dropping out taught her anything, it was that striking the first blood was a must. It showed flaws in the enemy's defenses, allowed one to dictate the flow of battle, and create opportunities down the road.

Her ship rocked violently having taken a stray laser to the forward portside. It seemed to merely graze them since the shields of the vessel barely take a dent. The Xan could feel the loud pumping of her heart in her ears. Her green hands felt clammy to touch.

She swallowed the lump that was stuck in her throat. Though she trained and learned in the academy, she never had to apply her knowledge in a real life scenario. And why would she? The galaxy had not seen any major conflicts since the Hyperspace War, and that was centuries ago.

The Xan took a quick breath in an attempt to pacify the fear and nerves that were creeping on her. She focused on the battlefield, examining how the fight was faring. Her fleet was doing well, having already destroyed one of Trench's frigates while he only incapacitated two of hers. The battle was going better than she had expected it to be.

Maybe too well.

_ No _ , she berated herself,  _ I can't doubt myself. Once I do, he wins. _

"Press the assault." She ordered, "I want all cruisers to assist with the frigates."

"Yes, ma'am."

Her cruisers moved quickly to join the fray. They continue to rain lasers upon Trench's forces, decimating them with their onslaught. Her crew cheered, seeing another one of the Corporate Alliance's ships burst into flames, having a steady descent to one of the Gan Moradir's large moons. It crashed against the gigantic mass of rock and stone, gifting the Xan's fleet with the beauty of a firework show.

Her shaking hands finally ceased. Her breathing rate was normal once more. The crippling fear and nerves that wrecked her body disappeared without a trace. In its stead was confidence, and a sense of accomplishment.

She'd done it. She won.

"Order all ships to cease fire. Open up channels with the Harch. It's time for him to surrender."

Her crew followed her command having sent a transmission to the lead ship of Trench's fleet. A screen popped up in front of her, showing the notorious Harch alongside a young human boy. She didn't picture him to be the kid-friendly-type, based on the stories they taught in the academy.

"This is Rem Neemo, commanding officer of the Gan Moradir fleet." She introduced herself. "I am offering you a chance to surrender. You will have my word that you and your men will be properly fed and well taken care of."

"Surrender?" Trench questioned with a light chuckle. "There will be no surrender. No retreat."

Rem narrowed her dark eyes at the Harch. "You are surrounded and outnumbered. This is your final chance."

A loud beeping intruded in the conversation. Her crew scrambled to figure out the situation.

"Report!" Rem shouted.

"We're receiving multiple signatures coming out of hyperspace!"

As if on cue, multiple ships—models she had never  _ seen _ before—came to Trench's rescue. Her eyes widened at the sight of them. They were immensely large, easily shadowing three of her cruisers with its size.

Rem could make out large cannons on their sides, and armor that looked like they could only be pierced by a fusion accelerator cannon. Those vessels were designed for combat. To wage war against others. Her fleet stood no chance against them.

Trench's chuckling brought her eyes back to the screen. The sadistic pleased look of the Harch pissed her off to no end.

"No surrender. No retreat." He reminded her. "You will be nothing but dust in the solar wind once this is over." The channel closed after that.

_ Damn you, Trench _ , she thought with a scowl.

She still had a way to turn this battle around. If she could take out Trench, the rest of his forces should be clueless without his direction.

"All ships fire—"

A ship mysteriously appeared out of thin air, dangerously close to her ship's bridge. Its cannons poised in her direction.

_ He had cloaked ships?! _

Time slowed for the Xan. She knew what was about to happen. What would become of her. She saw each painstakingly second as the bringer of her demise launched photon torpedoes. She leaped out of her chair, rushing to the exit but it was all for naught. The ordnance struck true and completely destroyed the bridge, killing all occupants and turning them all into specks of dust in the solar wind.

Just as Trench promised.

* * *

Trench watched with a demented gleam in his many eyes as his reinforcements obliterated the opposing forces. The battle was easier than what he originally thought it would be. Still though, this conflict should help instil an important lesson for his student. They were a lot contributing factors to his merciless victory. All of it stemmed back to his now deceased adversary.

He knew a green horn when he saw one. His foe never waged battle, having used a textbook space warfare strategy. It was easy to exploit the flaws and lure the enemy into a false sense of security.

"Commodore, inform the Trade Federation that their new ships and fighters worked well past expectations." He noticed what little of the enemy forces were left were in full retreat. "Order the fighters to intercept and destroy the rest of the fleet. We can't have survivors spill the news of the Trade Federation's new toys."

"Aye, sir."

He watched as the sleek droid fighters zoomed past his cruiser. Though he preferred the adaptability of flesh and bones under his command than the single mindedness of nuts and bolts, he could not deny the results the droids produced. Another crippling factor that led to the true downfall of his enemy; the procurement of fighter pilots. A single fighter could tip the scale towards delicious victory or bitter defeat. His opponent should've elected to invest in the maneuverability of a starfighter instead of the firepower of combat ships. A dastardly flaw his student had noticed.

"You have a keen eye, Coquer." He complimented. "Most would pay no heed to their lack of using starfighters."

"Thank you, Captain…"

Trench glanced down at the boy, seeing the vigor he had when the battle began gone. He saw as Coquer winced seeing the last of the enemy forces in ruins, plummeting to the planet that they were desperately trying to protect.

_ Ah, so that was it. _

"I remember my first time slaying an enemy." The boy gazed up at him with lost eyes. "It was centuries ago, but I still recall it as if it was yesterday. I was like you; scared, confused, wondering if I could handle the situation differently so the casualties on both sides could be lessened."

He roughly grabbed hold of the boy's head, forcing him to stare at the smoldering remains of the enemy, digging his claws into his scalp.

"Rid yourself of those seeds of guilt before it takes root in your soul. No one needs a military leader concerning themselves of the dead or what could've been.  _ Dooku _ has no need of one." Trench leaned his head down low, his grip on Coquer's head tight. He could see the tensed expression of the human, trying not to shed a tear from the discomfort. "You only need to worry about the next conquest. Am I understood, boy?"

Coquer visibly strained as he turned his head to face the Harch. The tawny shade eyes had taken a darker tone, promising him a bloody murder. Trench grinned at the defiant display. The boy had more fight than what he was led to believe. A good trait for a future military commander.

"I understand, Captain."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4: The Farewell**

* * *

Sharp bolts of red traded over the war-torn battlefield with small fires, caused by the incendiary grenades the unyielding forces use—consuming the dead as well as plant life—blanketing the land with suffocating smoke and ash. Ear-piercing screams of the wounded, either crying for their mothers or begging for someone to end it all mixed in an unsettling harmony with the grating sound of blaster fire and reverberating blaring of explosions.

"Retreat!" A human adult shouted at the top of their lungs before a thermal detonator went off, engulfing them and two others in a fiery explosion, leaving only charred scattered remains in its aftermath.

A young human boy, probably no older than fifteen, ran from the approaching enemy, bobbing and weaving through their heavy blaster fire as he tightly clenched the barrel of his rifle like his life depended on it. Wide frantic eyes scurried the battlefield, making sure to not trip over his dead friends as he made his way to the fallback point.

His legs ached with each step, sway, and leap he took with his stamina shot and the lifesaving adrenaline no longer pumping through his veins. He was deaf to the sound of war and carnage that surrounded him, only able to hear the erratic beating of his heart and the quick gasps of breath his lungs take.

A stray blaster bolt found its way to the young boy's shoulder, causing his face to twist in agonizing pain as he released a shrill cry and tumbled to the ground. 

He tried to stand, even using his rifle as a crutch to aid his shaky legs, but he couldn't. Exhaustion had finally taken control of his physically and mentally drained body, sentencing him to death. He could only watch helplessly as his brothers and sisters in arms, ran past him without even passing a single glance back to their fallen brethren, focusing on their own survival.

His face was drenched in sweat as he reached out with both hands, taking hold of the blood stained dirt, reeling his sluggish body forward. His muscles begged for him to stop but he ignored their pleas. He refused to die on a battlefield such as this. He repeated the action again, paying no heed to the desperate calls his body was yelling at him.

His body froze, feeling a hand grabbing the handle of his blast vest, lurching him up on his feet.

"Move, boy!" The individual barked.

Despite the protest in his legs, the teenager forced himself to move, sacrificing his weapon to the many that littered the ground. He glanced at the corner of his eye to see who his savior was, but wasn't able to get a good look as they too were struck by enemy fire. They yelled to him for help, practically begging. He continued running, tuning out the desperate cries of help and the heated curses that came after.

He had a second chance at life, and he wasn't going to waste it. He needed to survive. He _wanted_ to survive.

As he distanced himself from the ugly combat, the sound of blaster fire and explosion lessened. He could no longer feel the creeping feeling of death inching towards him with each bolt that whizzed past his head. He was ecstatic to taste the dryness of his own mouth instead of the ash of the burnt wildlands and corpses that flew with the wind.

The teenager could see a ridgeline in the distance, signifying he was close to the rally point. Once regrouped, he knew his captain would immediately want to mount up a defense and create an ambush. 

It would be suicide if they went on the offensive after the heavy losses they've taken.

The human jumped, leaping over the tall sandbags that protected his comrades from the enemy. He landed flat on his face, groaning in pain from the contact. Luckily he was quickly assisted to his feet, with zero words exchanged from the individuals.

He rubbed his sore nose, wincing slightly from the light touch he gave it—probably broken.

"Hands up and behind your head." A gruff voice ordered.

The teenager gazed up to be welcome with the sight of a female Weequay aiming a rifle at him. He took a step back with a tiny yelp, startled at the sudden presence of the gun toting woman.

She deepened her stance, brown eyes narrowing at the human. "I said _hands up_!" She barked, her finger poised to squeeze the trigger.

He followed her command, lifting his hands up and placing them behind his head. He swallowed down his nerves, seeing the Weequay wasn't relenting with her aim. After a tense a second, she relaxed her stance, finger still hovering over the trigger.

She nodded to her left, "March— _slowly_ ," she commanded. "Any of ya do something I don't like, or try to make a run for it—you will be shot by me. Understand?"

A collection of nods waved through the small group of three. The teenager took the first step, leading the group. His eyes roamed what was supposed to be a last stance of defiance against the oppressors, seeing those he fought minutes ago standing guard and searching through his people's supplies. Based on the lack of scorch marks and dead bodies, the enemy must have taken it without little resistance. 

The others must’ve surrendered quickly. 

He spotted a moderate sized crowd of his comrades, probably twenty to thirty people in the same situation. He easily noticed the captain, being the only Mirialan of the force, talking to someone that did not look much older than himself.

The stranger—a human male—was taller than the six-foot Mirialan captain of his. Unlike the teenager’s soft vibrant green eyes, the stranger’s were a hardened and fierce tawny shade. He was dressed in a turtleneck, sleeves rolled up—tinted in a dark red and tucked in black pants with a holster fastened around his hip. It looked like the stranger was part of the horrid conflict he ran from with the sweat stains in his top, and the blood and grime splattered on his face and clothes.

He saw a grin form on the stranger's lips as he shook the captain’s hand. The stranger turned to face the group of prisoners while the Mirialan hung his head in shame.

The fierce eyed man loudly cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. " _I_ , am Coquer and I’m pleased to inform you, your little _disagreement_ with the Techno Union is over, with your supervisor surrendering to the Corporate Alliance." He folded his hands behind his back. "As of this moment, your contract to the Techno Union is terminated, with no benefits being granted to you. All able bodied former employees will have one rotation, while the wounded will have five, to vacate and leave behind all Techno Union owned properties and goods."

"What?! You can't do that."

The teenage boy took a step forward, ready to fight the man who was kicking them out of their homes but was promptly reminded of the situation he was in when the enemy aimed their weapons at him. 

The leader of the oppressors called them off with a simple raised hand. He strolled over to the teenager, stopping a mere inch away—tawny eyes bored into his.

"Do you have an issue you would like to raise about the arrangement your work supervisor and I set?"

The teenager's jaw visibly tensed as he clenched his teeth. The man before him didn't view them as enemies or soldiers, just disgruntled employees who bit the hand that granted them housing and a paycheck.

"No." He grunted out.

"Good." Coquer turned around from the teenager—who released a breath of relief—and walked back to the Mirialan. "Be grateful that my mentor decided that I should personally deal with this situation, not him. He would have sought to burn you all like kindling for disobeying your employers." 

He turned to face them, standing by the Mirialan's side. "Worry not for the dead that unfortunately lost their lives today. I gave your supervisor my word that I would see to it they will all get a proper burial."

One of his soldiers walked up to him and whispered something in his ear. It had to be something odd based on the quizzical expression the man had.

He regarded them once more with his hardened eyes. "You have one rotation. Please, don't make me come back and finish the job. I prefer letting former employees live."

* * *

Coquer leaned back in his chair, cupping his chin, tapping it as he pondered what would be his next course of action. His forces were holding strong, fighting tooth and nail as defender, but he could tell—with the seconds ticking by—that the ground he once held was slowly becoming territory to the aggressor. 

He was going to lose if he didn't think of something quickly.

"Having problems, Coquer?"

His tawny colored eyes left the holographic battle simulation, gazing at his mentor who had pleased grin and a twinkle of mischief in his many eyes. 

Despite his victory against the fed up workers of the Techno Union early today, the young man wasn't quite versed with ground warfare, being more proficient in conducting ship-to-ship combat. There were too many variables one needed to take into account for. Unlike the simplisticiness of space warfare, where the military leader needed only to view the ship as a single pawn. In ground warfare, every soldier, tank, and aircraft was another piece on the ever expanding chess board. He could hold his own with the inexperienced and perhaps those of intermediate skills if he was lucky, but not those like his mentor who practically perfected the ugly art.

"Hardly," he said with a tiny smirk, inputting commands to his simulated troops. "Just thinking about what your excuse would be this time when I win."

Trench's low gruff-like chuckle resonated in the spacious cabin. The Harch's infantry rushed forward, throwing caution to the wind, drilling a hole into Coquer's defensive line, shattering all hopes of holding the simulated soldiers at bay. Coquer had to go on the offensive now.

With his rough hands, Coquer typed on the keyboard, sending an array of commands to his men. All of his limited armor forces spear-headed the assault with his infantry eliminating any of the invaders that were missed. The young man's forces easily overwhelmed the Harch's soldiers with his aggressive tactics, but they did not yield nor retreat at the strong retaliation.

Suddenly, bombers flew through the artificial skies, dropping proton bombs at the conflict below, decimating both Trench's and his troops. The Harch's armor divisions moved in, dispatching what little survivors there were.

Coquer grumbled, annoyed at the tactic his mentor utilized. He detested the act of willingly sacrificing one's soldiers to achieve victory. While he understood sacrifices were needed in combat, he will never stoop so low to implement such a horrendous strategy.

"I believe that makes a thousand wins now."

Coquer rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat as he crossed one leg over the other. "Don't forget, I did best you three times."

"Yes, over the long span of six years." Trench reached for the glass cup, half-filled with a reddish-brown liquid. He took a sip of the drink. "Though I will admit, you have provided me with a fun challenge that I have not experienced in quite some time."

Though compliments weren't foreign for the Harch to give, it was still rare for the instances to occur. Coquer took small pleasure in the praises his mentor gave. Like his droid caretakers from his youth, he viewed the Harch as an uncle figure of sorts, having taught the young man many things about life and guided him through the horrors of puberty.

"I'm glad to have proved worthy of your teaching, Captain."

"As am I." Trench took another sip of his beverage then released a heavy sigh. It wasn't a noise contentment of the delectable liquor, but of remorse. "And apparently, so does Count Dooku. Your Master deemed your training complete and requested your return."

Coquer blinked, caught completely off guard at the mention of his father. 

So that’s why Trench had ordered his immediate return to the ship. He hadn't seen nor heard from the Count since he placed him under Trench's care. Why does his father seek him now? Probably only to rip him away from those who cared for him only to place him in the hands of another.

The young man took a deep breath, ridding himself of the negative thoughts he carried for his father. There was nothing he could do but accept his fate.

"When do I depart?" Coquer asked, his voice even.

"Immediately." Trench answered before finishing the last of his drink. "I already have a ship prepared for your travel."

"I see." This was it. The end with his time with the Harch captain. He begrudgingly stood from his seat. "I shall gather my belongings then."

"Wait."

Trench stood and then walked to a large cabinet. He opened one of its wide drawers, taking out an item wrapped in cloth. It was of moderate size, having to be carried by two of the Harch's six hands. He walked to the young man, presenting the unknown gift to him.

Coquer accepted the item, carefully taking it from the hands of his mentor. He was surprised about the decent weight of the mysterious item based on its thin look. Trench urged him to unwrap it, and Coquer did so.

The clothed item revealed to be a vibrosabre of elegant design. It shined brightly from the overhead lights with the blade having a silver finish. The handle—black in color—had small grooves for grip. Lastly, the gold pommel had the insignia of the infamous Harch himself, etched on it for all the universe to see.

“It’s made of cortosis ore—a highly rare mineral.”

Coquer didn't know what to say, too shocked at the presence of the well crafted gift.

"I know you favor the feel of a blade in your hand more than that of a blaster." Coquer turned his gaze to the Harch as he spoke. "I had planned to reward you with this when my defeat by your hands reached double digits, but I guess it will do just as fine for a farewell gift."

"C-Captain—"

"You earned the right to call me Trench." The Harch reached out a hand, "It was an honor teaching you, Coquer."

Though harsh and sometimes down right cruel with his lessons, Coquer knew that it was all for a reason. A military leader needed to be strong and unyielding to all adversaries. To surrender meant death. These lessons will forever be engraved in his mind, and used as references for all future battles.

Coquer accepted the Harch's hand, giving his mentor a hearty shake. "It was a privilege learning from you, Trench."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5: The Return**

* * *

Coquer found himself in orbit of his homeworld of Serenno. He thought the planet of his birth would be greener for some reason. His memories of the planet were fuzzy, having last spent time on it when he was about five, right before his father sent him away to the Horox system.

He pushed the flight stick forward, descending on to the planet. In the back of his mind, the temptation to ignore his father's orders and flee lingered. Now that he was an adult, the lense of naivety and ignorance no longer obscure his vision. His father, and he used that term loosely, was a terrible parent. 

He remembered how he used to look up to the man, having heard the tales his droid caretakers boasted. He saved his homeworld from the tyranny of his uncle, Ramil, and exposed the growing corruption of the Senate, making citizens throughout the galaxy demand change and a centralized government. He protected innocents from disasters and more during his time in the Jedi Order. Coquer was taught about these accomplishments during his youth, and he dreamt of being just like his father when he grew up. For all he was a terrible parent, his father was a good person, and as such, Coquer knew he couldn't turn against him.

Coquer landed the spacecraft in the middle of a large courtyard, filled with obsidian pillars. He exited the ship, immediately being towered by the large imposing castle of the House of Serenno. 

Including his house, there were a total of fourteen noble houses. While the other houses offered advice and assisted with the day-to-day running of the planet, it was his house that ruled and passed final judgement on all matters. It had been this way since even before the era of the Old Republic, with the Count or Countess passing along the title to their oldest heir.

A birthright he would never receive due to the fact the galaxy thought he was dead.

Coquer placed a hand on top of his sabre which was holstered on the back of his hip. The simple touch was all he needed to swat away the melancholy feeling that was gripping him since he left Trench. He walked, taking long strides towards the entrance of the castle. With each step he took, he felt the temperature drop. Despite the large sun showering him with heat, he could see his frosted breath as if it were winter.

 **"** ** _Son._ ** **"**

Coquer stopped when he heard a soft voice. The cold that had him shivering was no longer there, and he felt enveloped by a comforting heat. It was not the warmth of the sun he felt, no, it was akin to that of a comforting hug a mother would give to their child.

He shook his head at the thought, trudging through the oddity that occurred. He walked up the flight of stairs, seeing a black servant droid waiting for him.

"Commander Coquer," it greeted with a bow. "I was instructed by Count Dooku to escort you to him."

Coquer raised a brow from the title the droid referred to him as. _Why Commander?_ "Lead the way."

* * *

Coquer followed the droid through the never ending halls, being guided to his father. His eyes gravitated to the many portraits that littered the steel gray walls. The paintings were of Counts and Countesses of the past, with a few having elected to have portraits of themselves with their family instead of just them lonesome. All wore a menacing scowl with a hint of annoyance of having to be seated still to be painted. A trait it seemed his family carried. He remembered a few times when those under his command turned slightly pale when he scowled at them. 

At least he received _something_ from his father.

"We're almost there." The droid informed him.

Coquer hummed a response, tearing his eyes away from the paintings to focus on reaching his father.

The corridors seemed to stretch for miles, and if it weren't for the paintings on the walls, he would’ve assumed he had been walking in place. He caught something in the corner of his eye, something he couldn't believe. He stopped and turned, giving the painting his full attention, soaking in the details.

The portrait was of him as an infant, being held by the arms of his mother with his father placing a loving hand on her left shoulder. His mother was clothed in a lovely burgundy dress, matching her red lips which were curved in a smile, parallel to the happy twinkle in her eyes. His father, wrapped in the ceremonial garbs of the Count of their noble house, was also grinning and his hair wasn't completely gray, showing his youth when the portrait was painted.

His father was happy. _They_ were happy. How did it go so wrong?

 **"** ** _Son_ ** **.”**

The same soft voice called out to him—closer than before. He whipped his head around, seeing nothing but the droid that was staring at him with a tilt of its head.

“Do you require assistance?”

“No.” He quickly said. Coquer shook his head, hoping to get his head on right. “Just take me to my Master.”

“As you wish. Follow me.” 

* * *

"Is Grievous in position for the invasion?" The distorted voice asked.

"Yes." Dooku answered with a curt response.

The Sith loathed reporting to the enigma that was Watcher. They appeared out of thin air a few years ago, shortly after leaving his son under the tutelage of the Harch Captain. Though they referred to him as his Sith title, they refused to grant him the respect he deserved.

"Excellent Lord Tyranus." They complimented him, though Dooku knew it was fake. "As our Lord ordered, you shall depart to Geonosis immediately to retrieve the blueprints of the weapon."

"As my Master wishes, Watcher."

The transmission ended, leaving Dooku to seethe in his own anger. How dare Watcher order him around? He took a quick deep breath, dowsing his ire for the enigma. He just needed to bide his time now. The moment would come when he would overtake his Master’s mantle.

"Why did you not tell them I was here?"

Dooku turned to the woman that asked the question. The sickly pale woman stared at him with her piercing blue eyes. "I wish not to reveal your existence just yet, Ventress."

Ventress tensed, seeing his hand hovering over his lightsaber, but relaxed once he reached for inside his bronze colored sash instead. The Sith pulled out a small black chip.

"You have proven yourself worthy of my attention in the gladiator pits of where I found you, but you have yet to prove your worth of being my apprentice." He pressed a button on the chip and it fizzled to life, showcasing a human male dressed in the garbs of a Jedi. 

"This is Rael Averross, a former padawan of mine during my time as a Jedi. He has a sharp wit, with his skills with his blade even sharper. His mastery of the Force was praised by all of the Order." 

He deactivated the device. "You are to travel to Pijal and eliminate him. Once I have his lightsaber in my hand, I shall view you as my apprentice and your training as a Sith begins."

Ventress inclined her head deeply. "I will not fail you, Master. I shall show you that I'm worthy of your teachings."

The young woman had a lot of potential. While her swordsmanship left a lot to be desired, it was still equivalent to that of an average Jedi Knight. Her mastery at the Force was still elementary but he could easily see it improving with time—seeing first hand how her abilities grew during their brief clash of blades they had at the gladiator arena. Dooku was sure the late Ky Naseric had not envisioned this when he took the Dathomirian under his wing.

Ventress raised her head, turned and marched like a woman on a mission to the exit. She reached for the doors and opened them, being welcomed at the sight of his son and a droid. She paid them no mind, obviously not knowing the young man in front of her was Dooku’s son and marched past them.

"Count Dooku, I brought Commander Coquer as requested." The droid reported.

"Good. Now, leave us." Dooku ordered. "See to it that we're not disturbed."

"Yes, Count Dooku."

The droid left, closing the doors behind it. Dooku looked at his son with his hardened expression softening and a kind smile gracing his wrinkled features. The years have been good to his son. The young man hadn't skipped his physical training judging by the evidence of muscles across his form. He stood at Dooku’s eye-level, no longer hardly reaching his waist. His skin was a bit paler from what he remembered, probably from the lack of sun that space travel gave to individuals.

"Son," he greeted, clapping his hands on Coquer's shoulders. "It is good to see you again."

"The feeling is mutual."

Dooku eyed his son curiously from his cold response. Then, he remembered his son was no longer a child but now an eighteen-year-old adult, with his time under Trench no doubt further maturing the once young eager boy. His son had become a warrior, a man worthy of his blood. He should be able to protect himself now.

The Sith released his grip and motioned for his son to follow. With a wave of a hand across a bookcase, it stuttered as it opened, revealing a secret passage. He took the first step down the dark passage with his son following closely behind.

"The time has finally come, my son, for you to utilize what you’ve learned these past thirteen years."

"What?" Coquer's voice sounded confused. "I'm not being placed under another tutor?"

"No. You are more than ready for what's to come."

"What's to come?" They arrived at a cavern with two golden solar sailers waiting for them. "Father, what do you mean?"

"War." Dooku answered simply.

Coquer stopped in his tracks. "War?"

"Yes." He turned to face his son. "Everything I have done was to prepare you for this moment. To give you the skills to protect yourself while eliminating our enemies."

Coquer just stared at him, unable to formulate a simple response. His tawny eyes yelled betrayal. 

"I'm just another tool to you." He shook his head in denial, his trembling hand tightly holding onto the sabre attached to his hip. "Do you even view me as a son? Do you even love me?"

Of course, he does! Everything he had done was because of his love for him. Leaving the Jedi Order, killing his best friend, orchestrating a galaxy-wide war, slaying his own sister, pledging himself to the dark side. All of it was for him!

"I do love you, my son. But you need to understand that they are forces at work that I cannot protect you from. I need you to be strong. I need you to be a warrior. You had to be seen worthy of _his_ plan."

" _His_ plan?" Coquer took a step forward. "Who's _he_?"

"Someone you need not worry yourself with—at least not yet. I already have a plan in motion to take care of him, I only need you to assist me when it is time to strike." Dooku walked to one of the luxurious spacecraft. "I must go. Your ship already has coordinates inputted in it. You will receive your orders there."

Dooku marched inside his ship, ignoring the words of his son—pleading for answers. Once the Republic fell and he took the mantle of true Lord of the Sith, his son would understand his actions. 

* * *

A wide, toothy smile graced the face of the grayed haired man—showered by the ominous blue fire on the pedestal in front of him. His sinister cackling filled the darkness that surrounded him. His sickly yellow eyes glint in pleasure of his foolish apprentice's action. Every deed that Dooku committed, brought his son one step closer to him. So sad the man could not see the potential like he did.

"My Lord."

"Yes?" He answered, refusing to look away from the alluring fire.

"Lord Tyranus reported all pieces are in position for the invasion. He should be on his way to Geonosis as we speak to pick up the blueprint."

"Good." He flexed his slender bony fingers, unleashing a torrent of lightning from its tips, directed at the fire. The blue flame flared brightly for a moment before it settled into a nice contained fire. "And what of Anakin?" He began whispering words to the fire in a language long forgotten.

"Based on my last report, he should still be on Tatooine with Senator Amidala. Apparently, the Padawan had a worrying vision about his mother."

"I see."

While the son of Dooku needed a guided hand to break the chains that shackled his abilities, Anakin was the exact opposite. Strong in the Force he was, only needing a proper training to tame his powers. Coquer, intellect rivaled by his own obedient slave, with untapped potential that will overshadow the boy's own father and most Masters of the Jedi High Council. And Anakin, unrefined power that could show the galaxy the true terrifying might of the Order of Sith Lords. 

Both were fine candidates to become his next apprentice. Both he would need to keep a watchful eye on to careful mold them into what he truly desired.

He spared one final look at the fire, seeing a frustrated Coquer traveling to his objective. The elderly man whispered a few more words in the tongue of the Sith, pleased to see the effect it has on the young Serennian. Never hurt to bet on both red and black. After all, the house always won.

"Prepare for the clone army we are about to receive." With a clasped hand, he extinguished the fire. "I have a hearing I need to report to."

Watcher respectfully inclined their head. "As you wish, Lord Sidious."


End file.
